


Shaken and Stirred

by Persephoneshadow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Bartender Dean, Bisexual Dean, Eventual Smut, M/M, Religious Castiel, Virgin Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-02-19 07:57:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2380763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephoneshadow/pseuds/Persephoneshadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel walks into a bar. Dean makes him a few drink and lends an ear. And maybe helps Cas figure out afew things about family. And kissing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dirty Martini

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so, I'm seeing a few new hits lately on this and I just want to assure readers I have not forgotten this fic. I have a plan and it will get finished I SWEAR. Once I finish "Best Laid Plans" this baby is next on the docket and I'm so sorry for the ETERNITY I've waited to update. But the plus side is now I'm much more confident with sex scenes and I can give this fic the smut it deserves.

“I have a reservation.”

The first thing Dean wonders is if the guy needs a lozenge, because “gravely” doesn’t begin to describe that voice. To be fair though, it’s not a bad voice. Just deeper than he’d expect for, you know, any normal human. The seriousness of the tone doesn’t help.

Ruby of course, is not impressed. Dean watches from his place behind the bar, arranging the last of the glassware for the dinner rush. The chick is barely taller than the hostess’ podium and she still manages to look down her nose at Mr. movie-trailer-voice.

“Um, ok,” Ruby mutters. Opening the book for the night. As much as Dean hates her, he can’t blame her for the confusion. The dining room had opened literally two minutes ago and it’s not like the place is packed. It is Tuesday afterall.

The guy, who Dean can’t really make out from his angle, clears his throat impatiently. As if that would help.

“What name is the reservation under?” Ruby asks.

“Novak.”

Dean goes back to getting the bar in order, making sure the containers of olives and maraschino cherries are filled to the brim and the small bowls of fried chick peas (a house specialty) are warm and ready to be distributed as needed to patrons. There are a few holdovers from happy hour lingering in a booth, but the bar is pretty empty otherwise.

“Uh, that reservation isn’t for an hour,” he hears Ruby say, which gets his attention back.

“That’s fine.”

Dean glances up again, catching a glimpse of a shoulder in a trench coat beyond the partition between the bar and lobby. He’d feel bad for anyone else getting this weird a start to the night.

“The table isn’t ready…” Ruby explains, her eyebrows high and incredulous.

Dean snickers a bit, imagining the guy staring down Ruby. He gets a quick glare for that across the empty bar.

“You can wait at the bar though, sir, someone will let you know when the table is ready,” Ruby informs the customer with the fakest smile ever.

Dean scowls and grabs a towel to give the bar a final wipe-down. He probably deserved that one. He sees a flash of beige out of the corner of his eye as the guy takes a seat at the very end of the bar. Apparently the guy intends to wait an hour for his table in the most isolated spot possible. Fun. Well, it might mean a good tip if he keeps the guy entertained.

“So, what’s your poison?” Dean asks, sidling over and setting a cocktail napkin and a bowl of chickpeas in front of trench coat guy and…Dean loses the train of thought because trench coat guy is also messy hair, stubble, and ungodly blue eyes that are staring directly into Dean’s soul, face out of a painting guy.

“Poison?” the man asks, squinting at Dean.

Dean flinches, coming back to himself. Mostly. “What can I get you to drink?” he clarifies, trying to ignore that now it’s Ruby snickering at him from a distance.

“Oh, of course,” trench coat sighs. “Uh…” The man’s eyes – and seriously, they’re a blue like Dean has never seen, and also amazing, and also something he should not be thinking about because, one, customer and two, kind of a weirdo – widen as he scans the glass shelves of bottles on display behind Dean. The guy looks completely overwhelmed. “What…do you recommend?”

“Well, that depends on what you’re looking for."

“What I’m looking for?” the guy repeats. He’s like a squinty, cute parrot Dean thinks.

“Are you a beer guy? Wine? Whiskey? Martini maybe?” Dean explains.

“I’ve never really tried any of those, well, except wine…”

“Excuse me?” Dean almost chokes.

The man doesn’t seem taken aback by Dean’s shock. “I’ve never had…occasion to partake.”

“So, um…wine?” 

“No, I don’t want to be reminded of communion this evening,” the guy replies with complete seriousness. Though, it’s hard to take a guy with his tie backwards _that_ seriously.

Dean blinks a few times, trying to process. “Okay, umm…”

“I did have tequila once, it was an unpleasant experience,” trench coat continues and Dean smiles despite himself.

“Ok, no margaritas, check. Well, if you’ve got an hour until your reservation…I guess it depends on how hammered you want to be. If you’re meeting people, I might go with a beer, start things slow.”

The man gives a sigh and shakes his head. “For this event, being ‘hammered,’” god help him, but the guy uses _air quotes_ , “would not be advisable. Though it would be preferable.” The guy, takes a deep breath and nods to himself, apparently making some big decision. “I’ll try a martini.”

“Okay,” Dean smiles. “Vodka or Gin?”

Trench coat’s face falls in despair. “I…uh…”

“Well, you can do the Bond thing. You know, vodka martini, shaken, not stirred,” Dean suggests, fighting the urge to break out a bad Conery impression.

“That’s…a film? A film series?” trench coat asks, perplexed.

Dean bites his tongue, because _of course_ the guy who's never had hard alcohol before doesn’t know James Bond from Jason Bourne.

“You know what, Indiana Jones is better any way, and you wanna go with gin, smoother, more flavor,” Dean says and the guy nods gratefully. Dean turns, exhaling incredulously, and looks up at the line of bottles behind him, back-lit so they look like jewels. “Now, the house gin here is Gordon’s but, seeing as this is your first martini, we’re gonna go with something nicer,” Dean muses aloud. The guy is smiling now (not that Dean’s watching him in the mirror behind the booze), looking relieved to let Dean take over. “Now, most people would say Tanqueray, but I’m partial to Bombay Sapphire.” Dean pulls down the light blue bottle, and in no way thinks to himself that trench coat’s eyes are much nicer blue.

“That sounds refined,” trench coat comments, as Dean grabs a pre-chilled shaker and a martini glass from the freezer and fills both with ice.

“Oh very, I’m class all the way,” Dean grins and the guy’s eyes crinkle a bit at the corner and it’s stupidly cute. Which Dean ignores - not because he doesn’t flirt with customers, because he does all the time, how else would he make a living at this? - but because he doesn’t want to get distracted by weird trench coat guy’s smile and sex hair and pour gin on his work clothes. It’s bad enough he has to wear a fucking _maroon_ button down and douche-vest and skinny tie, he doesn’t want them to smell like booze. Well, at least not now.

“Ok, vermouth first,” Dean narrates as he pours a jigger of Martini and Rossi into the shaker, “And…” he looks at the guy thoughtfully. “Since this is your first, we’re gonna make it extra dirty.”

“Excuse me?” trench coat asks, going a bit pale. Dean grins again.

“It means we add a bit of the brine from the olives,” Dean explains easily, and trench coat relaxes. Dean add a pony’s worth of the brine to the shaker and pops on the lid. He begins shaking, noting, maybe a bit too proudly that trench coat is checking out his arms. Well, maybe he’s just interested in the process, but they guy is staring in a not-normal way and Dean likes being flattered a more than being creeped out.

“I do like olives,” trench coat remarks. “That’s why I thought the martini might be a good start.”

Dean raises an eyebrow in approval as he pours the liquid out of the shaker through the strainer and then pours in the gin.

“Now, the reason double-o-seven is on the money with shaken, not stirred is that this gets the gin nice and cold, and there ain't nothing worse than a warm martini,” Dean explains as he starts shaking again. He’s good at this, putting on a show and a smile for the patrons, even if it’s just one weird guy who’s probably never left his house before tonight but is still…cute. In an overly serious, staring sort of way.

Dean finishes shaking and pours the cocktail into the frosty glass with a flourish. Small flecks of ice float in the cloudy gin, exactly as it should be. Dean skewers three olives and plops the garnish in, then pushes the glass across the bar to trench coat.

The other man lifts the glass and gives Dan a nod. “Is ‘cheers’ the correct expression?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods. At least no air quotes this time.

Trench coat smiles and takes his first, careful sip. Dean watches as those blue eyes go wide and the other man swallows.

“That is…very…” he takes another, bigger sip…then coughs. “Very strong.”

Dean chuckles and gives a nod. “Hope you like it.”

“Yes, I-I think I do,” trench coat answers and takes another, much bigger sip. He looks like he’s just been punched and wheeze a bit, but nods. “Yes, this is very good.”

“Hey, uh, you’ve got a while before dinner so, no rush…” Dean cautions but it’s too late. Trench coat has downed the entire thing. His breathing is a bit labored and he runs his hand through his hair, making it even messier. He sighs as he starts in on the olives. “Do you, uh, want another?” 

Trench coat nods emphatically.

“Man, what kind of dinner are you going to?” Dean wonders aloud as he takes the empty glass.

“Dinner with my family and my…girlfriend’s family.”

Dean’s stomach drops a little. But the guy was kind of weird anyway and he would be in so much trouble with Josie (not to mention Sam) if he hooked up with another customer and so why does he even care…But he did say it like he was going to his execution, so…

“Well, uh, good luck with that,” Dean says with a smile.

Thankfully Jo takes this moment to arrive with the first drink order from her section.

“Busy night already?” Jo asks, casting a curious look toward trench coat. Dean rolls his eyes a bit as he takes the ticket from her.

“Not so bad,” Dean shrugs and Jo gives him an annoyed look before spinning away.

“I’ve gotta get to these first, then I’ll get to your refill,” Dean explains because of course the guy is still staring at him. “Let’s see,” Dean reads the ticket. “Two cosmos and one long island ice tea. My bet, three friends. Two just finished shopping, ready for some grub, and their poor working friend that just got off has to deal with them after the day she just had.”

Trench coat gives a chuckle and a lopsided smiled that anyone would think is adorable. “You’re very perceptive,” he comments then bites down on an olive.

“Oh yeah part of the job, counselor and cocktail maker,” Dean grins back.

“Counselor?” trench coat echoes. Dean finishes up the cosmos and nods, setting into the long island. “In that case, can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone?”

Dean nearly spills the iced tea. Trench coat is done with the olives and staring at Dean like he’s got the last glass of water in a dessert.

“Huh?” Dean gapes,

“I’m sorry, that was inappropriate,” the other man sighs, his voice dropping even lower than before, which Dean didn’t think was possible. He also looks like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. Damn it.

“No, uh, it’s fine…I mean, uh…” Dean stammers, caught-off guard when the blue laser eyes focus back on him. “I mean, that’s usually not something to say to a complete stranger.”

“Oh…” trench coat frowns.

Dean smiles. “So, let’s not be strangers. You got a name?”

The frown disappears immediately. “Castiel.”

“Well I’m Dean.” Dean extends a hand across the bar.

“Hello, Dean. It’s nice to meet you,” Castiel (much better than ‘trench coat guy’) smiles crookedly and takes Dean’s hand. Dean pointedly does not notice the niceness of the guy’s hands.

“So, uh…” Dean says, shaking himself out of a haze and quickly finishing the long island. Jo gives him a pointed look as she pops by to pick up her order.

“I don’t love Hannah,” Castiel confesses softly, as soon as Jo is clear.

Dean blinks and swallows. “Um, can you give me a bit of context?”

Castiel sighs and nods, looking down as Dean begins to mix the next martini.

“Hannah, she’s my girlfriend. We’ve been together since high school. She’s a very good person…I work for her father, and our parents have known each other since before we were born, but…” Castiel falters and looks straight at Dean. Dean is damn glad he’s just finished pouring the gin because that look is pretty world stopping.

“But you’re just not that into her,” Dean tries to joke but Castiel only squints more. Dean shakes his head and starts shaking the martini. “Okay, let’s get this into you before you go on,” Dean says, as he pours.

“Thank you,” Castiel says, taking the drink and downing it in one gulp before Dean can even put in the olives.

“Holy crap man,” Dean mutters.

“I like these very much,” Castiel declares. “May I have one more?”

“You _are_ serious about not wanting to go to this dinner,” Dean replies. “How about we slow it down a bit and you give me a bit more exposition.”

Castiel looks disappointed but nods. “Ever since my mother remarried, everything in life has been…determined for me. My schooling, my work. It’s all been arranged and planned and I…I don’t know if it’s right…”

“Man, that blows,” Dean says before he can think.

Castiel lets a small laugh escape. “It does, and tonight…I’m expected to propose marriage.” Castiel says it like he’s being asked to shoot a puppy.

“Wait, wait, hold up…” Dean stammers, blinking about half-a-dozen times to get his brain around the new bit of information. “You’re going to _propose_ to the chick you’re not even sure you _love_?”

“I do care for her…” Castiel protests. “I’m just not sure it’s the kind of love that can make a marriage.”

“What does that even mean, dude?” Dean scoffs and gets a confused look for his trouble. “Like, is the sex bad or something?” Dean is not prepared for Castiel to blush and start scratching the back of his neck. Dean has apparently hit a nerve. “You and, uh, Hannah have…”

Castiel coughs and looks down. “Our families…they’re very traditional. And it would be very inappropriate, not to mention a sin..,” he stammers.

“So you’re telling me that you’re…” Dean shakes he heads. Because, seriously, the guy is awkward, but he’s cute and Dean wouldn’t have pegged him as a virgin.

Castiel is still blushing furiously. “I have never had the occasion.”

Dean finds himself smiling warmly, despite himself. He’s a bit proud his mind hasn’t gone to the bad ‘the things I could show this guy’ place yet…wait, no. There it goes. And now Dean is blushing too. He quickly pours Cas a gin and tonic and slides it across the bar. “This one is one me.”

“Um, sir?” Dean startles at the irritated voice from further down the bar. An annoyed-looking man in a sweater is glaring at him brandishing a credit card.

“Sorry,” Dean says. “Be right back, this is so not over,” Dean adds to Cas as an aside. “Finish that. Slolwy.”

It takes dean about ten minutes to deal with Douchey McCardigan – who of course order two fucking mojitos, which Dean hates because there are so many better ways to be tiring his arm out with repetitive motions – and then Meg and Jo come up with more drink orders. It’s not as bad as the happy hour rush but he’s glad it’s only an hour or so before Bela comes in to take over from him. By the time Dean returns to Castiel the man is still looking flushed but it’s in more of a happy drunk way instead of incredibly embarrassed. His glass is empty.

“How you doin’?” Dean asks, smiling again.

“I think I’m starting to feel something,” Castiel replies slowly.

“Good, that’s the point,” Dean grins. “One more or are you good?”

“I…I’m not sure? Maybe something more mild?” Castiel replies. “What was that thing you were making for that other customer? With the mint? I like mint…”

Dean sighs dramatically. “Nah, man, no mojito for you. How about another martini but you actually sip it and appreciate it this time?”

“That sounds acceptable.” Dean pulls out a fresh glass, shaking his head. Where did this guy come from?

“Okay, so – this chick, Hannah,” Dean begins, as Castiel nods. “You haven’t uh…gone to that special place with her, but I mean, you’ve kissed, right?”

“On several occasions, yes."

“Well, that’s nice, considering you might marry her,” Dean says, incredulous at how flat and serious the words are. “And was it…” Dean raises his eye brows curiously as he adds the vermouth and olive brine to the ice in the shaker.

“It was…somewhat physically pleasurable, I believe,” Castiel answers with utter sincerity.

“Wow. You know I’m shocked you haven’t torn her clothes off,” Dean snarks and gets a head tilt in reply. “Dude, come on, ‘somewhat physically pleasurable?’ The person you’re gonna be with for the rest of your life? There’s gotta be…”

“What?” Castiel asks intensely.

Dean considers the question as he shakes the vermouth, brine and ice. He’s a bit surprised at how seriously he’s taking this conversation with a total stranger that has admittedly gone into very intimate territory. Sadly, it’s not even cracking the top ten strange tales of Dean’s life as a barkeep. He shudders to think of that one guy who asked him to look at the weird rash…

Dean pours out the remaining vermouth and brine and pulls the gin to him, thoughtfully fiddling with the neck of the bottle.

“When you kiss someone, when it’s right, man, your stomach does that thing where it jumps up in your throat,” Dean explains, avoiding Castiel’s stare and pouring the gin. “And your skin gets tingly and the world starts spinning.” He begins shaking the mix, staring into the distance and remembering some of the better first kisses on his record. “And you’re a bit warm and a bit cold. You kind of stop thinking, except…you keep thinking ‘yeah, this is good,' and you don’t even worry about technique or whatever, because the rest of the world…” He turns and pours Castiel’s drink, plopping the olives in with slightly exaggerated flare. “Well, it just goes away.” Dean has to admit he’s a bit proud of himself when Castiel’s blush returns and he grabs the drink to take a too eager sip. "You need fireworks."

“I…uh...that doesn’t sound very…it’s never been like that,” Castiel mutters.

“Well, maybe you’re kissing the wrong person,” Dean offers before he can stop himself.

“Oh, now, really, this poor man is stuck talking to you _and_ looking for someone to kiss?” A voice purrs from behind Castiel and he jumps. Dean has never quite hated Meg as much as in that moment.

“Excuse me?” Castiel asks, looking down at the petite brunette with nothing but trouble in her expression.

“One old fashioned, one gimlet and one vodka rocks, Dean-o,” Meg smirks, handing Dean the ticket and turning to Castiel, smiling like a cat that’s spied a particularly juicy canary. “What was this about kissing, honey?”

“Dean was suggesting I haven’t kissed the right person yet, my girlfriend and I…it’s never been…” Castiel is leaning back a bit as Meg leans in. “No fireworks.”

“Oh, well, I can help you test that,” Meg grins, glancing around the still uncrowded bar. “If you like.”

Dean has the very strong urge to use his orange peeler to stab Meg in the face. But Castiel isn’t pushing her away, he's squinting in confusion at her, as if he doesn’t quite get what’s going on.

“I guess that might be…helpful,” Castiel rumbles. Meg casts Dean a wicked look before hooking her hands into Castiel’s trench coat and pulling him in for a kiss. Castiel doesn’t  really move or respond at all, though Meg looks like she’s giving her best effort and for some reason that makes Dean wanna throw up in his mouth a bit.

Dean doesn’t realize he’s over poured the vodka until it’s overflowing on to his hands. He’s a bit too annoyed and, ok, he’ll admit it, a wee bit jealous. But then suddenly his hand is wet and there’s a glass crashing to the ground. Dean fumbles with the mess but the two of them don’t really seem to notice him.

Meg pulls back and raises a curious eyebrow at Castiel. “Well?”

Castiel frowns. “I’m sorry, n-no fireworks."

Meg casts a glance a Dean then gives an easy shrug. “Worth a shot. Got those drinks ready yet?” Dean gratefully places the drinks on Meg’s tray, his glare only diminished because Castiel did not seem to enjoy her.

“Get back to work, or Josie’s gonna be pissed at you,” Dean grumbles.

“See ya,” Meg smiles and saunters away.

Castiel watches her leave somewhat regretfully before turning back to Dean and heaving a sigh. “I would assume that alcohol and a pretty girl would make the prospect of…fireworks more probable, and yet.”

“Well, maybe you should try boys,” Dean blurts out before he can stop himself and it’s instantly obvious he’s hit, not just a nerve, but _the_ nerve because Castiel suddenly looks like he’s had the wind knocked out of him and is staring down into his martini glass like he could read the future there.

“I…I have considered that…possibility. But…” Castiel confesses softly. “My family’s views on, uh, alternative lifestyles are even more severe than their views on pre-marital conjugal relations.”

“Dude, Cas,” Dean cuts him off, placing a hand gently on Castiel’s wrist and drawing his gaze to meet Dean’s. “I’m sorry, but your family sounds like they’re a bunch of dicks. Bigoted, backward dicks apparently.”

Thankfully the insult to Castiel’s family draws a smile, not anger. Dean finds himself smiling again too, and then staring in to Castiel’s face, because why the hell not? It’s a nice face, a really nice face and the dude is weird and dorky but he’s sincere and thoughtful and the eyes…and the mouth is nice too, though there’s a small smear of lipstick at the corner and before Dean can stop himself he’s reaching up and…

“Mr. Novak, your table is ready.”

 

 

Castiel likes to think he does not automatically hate people. But the sound of the waitress voice breaking him out of the haze of staring at Dean makes him seriously consider murder. Dean’s hand falls back to the bar, far from Castiel’s and the moment is lost. Castiel turns – which makes his head spin – and regards the hostess.

“Your party isn’t here yet so...”

“I’ll just wait here then,” he nearly snaps back. The small woman gives him a scowl and turns away.

Castiel turns back to his half-drunk cocktail. “I should finish this,” he sighs and takes a long, burning swig.

“Lemme guess, the fam wouldn’t be so hot on you getting smashed before the big dinner?” Dean asks and Castiel gives a hollow chuckle.

“That would be a fair assumption,” he replies. “Though I don’t really feel…smashed.”

“Give it time, it’ll hit you in about twenty minutes,” Dean reassures him, a twinkle in his green eyes. “Probably won’t be able to drink during dinner, huh?”

“Alas, no…” Castiel answers. “That would cause quite a stir.”

“Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” Dean grins. Castiel finds himself staring at the man again. He knows it’s impolite but he simply can’t get enough of the sight of him. He’s simply the most… _beautiful_ person Castiel has ever seen and he keeps making jokes Castiel doesn’t quite understand but it makes him feel warm and relaxed and it’s fascinating. “Hey, you could order cokes and I could send you Cuba libres instead.”

“I don’t understand what the communist revolution in Cuba has to do with-”

“It’s a drink, Cas, rum and coke,” Dean explains, looking both amazed by Castiel’s apparent ignorance and amused by it.

“Oh, that would be a cunning plan,” Castiel agrees. He glances at his watch and downs the rest of the martini in response. “Five minutes." he sighs.

“You don’t have to go you know, you can just say screw it,” Dean, the bartender who has made it his business to try to change Castiel’s entire life, suggests.

“I do though,” Castiel mutters.

Suddenly Dean is close to him, examining his face and…sniffing? Even though the alcohol has made everything a bit spinny and unmoored this is still strange. At least he smells better than the waitress who had kissed him. She had reeked of tobacco and stale perfume.

“You smell like a brewery, man,” Dean remarks. “I think your family might notice.”

“Oh.” Castiel shakes his head, which is not a good idea and makes him feel even more disconnected from gravity. “That’s unfortunate.”

“There’s mouthwash in the employee bathroom, if you wanna use some,” Dean says with a shrug.

“That’s a kind offer but…”

“Hey, it’s no problem,” Dean answers though the edges of his mouth are tight. Castiel should stop looking at that mouth. He really should because…he can’t why remember now, because Dean is calling out to a lovely blonde waitress to cover the bar for five minutes and taking Castiel by the wrist and leading him down a narrow hall to the side of the bar.

Before Castiel is quite sure what’s happened, Dean is handing him a bottle of Scope, face expectant.

“Thank you.” Castiel takes as swig and swishes it in his mouth. He catches a glance of Dean, looking bemused. He’s also quite close to Castiel in the small employee bathroom. He’s an inch or two taller than Castiel, but it’s nice. Castiel can look up at him this way and the angle is…flattering. Castiel spits out the mouth was and runs the water, splashing a bit on his face to get some clarity. It’s quite warm in these close quarters and he hasn’t taken off his coat yet.

He glaces at his own face in the dingy mirror and then at Dean, whose reflection meets his eyes.

“You okay?” Dean asks, with genuine care that surprises Castiel.

“No. But this is something I…” He hates himself a bit even as the words repeat themselves. “Something I have to do.”

He’s surprised when Dean turns him, his hands gentle on Castiel’s shoulder.

“No it isn’t,” Dean tells him.

“Dean, I…” he doesn’t really know what to say. But he like the sound of Dean’s name on his tongue. As much as he likes looking up into Dean’s face. He has freckles. Castiel hadn’t notices that from across the bar and they’re beautiful…Dean sighs and Castiel’s attention is drawn back to his mouth. No. Eyes…No…

“Aw, screw it,” Dean mutters and suddenly Castiel is being kissed.

Castiel is being kissed and there’s a hand on his waist and another on his cheek, and the lips against his are soft and endless and insistent. Castiel is being kissed and he’s grabbing Dean’s arms and tilting his head and moving his mouth and making a soft sound. It doesn’t really matter at all, any of that, though, because Castiel is being kissed and there are _fireworks_.


	2. Cuba Libre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worst. Family. Dinner. Ever?

Dean pulls back slowly, licking the taste of scope and gin of his lips (not so bad). Castiel’s eyes are closed, his mouth hanging a bit open, his expression dazed.

“Does that help?” he asks, sounding more breathless than he expected. Not that much more because, as ill-advised kisses in cramped quarters go, this was one of the best. Castiel’s eyes open slowly, and he lets out a shaking breath. “Come on,” Dean asks nervously, as Cas remains silent and staring. “I don’t even get ‘somewhat physically pleasurable?’”

“Far more than somewhat,” Castiel declares, taking a deep breath though his nose and fixing Dean with a look like he wants to melt him with his brain or something. Given the intensity of that looks, Dean probably should have been a bit more prepared for Castiel grabbing his vest roughly and pulling Dean into another kiss. And, whoa boy, it is a kiss.

The first kiss had been stupid and impulsive, but it had been at least somewhat thought-out on Dean’s part. There had been an effort to make it good (ok, really good) for Cas, just so he really knew what his options were…But this? Dean can barely keep up. Cas kisses like a man lost in a desert who just found an oasis. He has Dean pushed against a wall and his mouth is warm and insistent and awesome. Dean’s hands scramble over the rough fabric of the trench coat up to Castiel’s hair. Dean is aware that there should be some part of his brain telling him that every aspect of this - kissing a random customer, at work, while still on his shift, in a dingy restroom - is Extremely Bad and Dumb. But Cas seems to have flipped Dean’s logic switch firmly into the off position.

A loud knock on the restroom door jolts them both out of the moment. Castiel lets go abruptly and Dean stumbles, crashing into the edge of the sink.

“Dean, not that I’d ever want to interrupt whatever deviancy you’re getting in to, but Jo is gonna kill me if you don’t get your sweet ass back behind that bar, pronto,” Meg’s voice lilts through the thin door.

“Yeah…com-” nope. Wrong word. So the wrong word. “Be right there.” Dean waits a beat to make sure Meg has left before opening the door and half-tripping into the hall. Where Meg is waiting, eyebrows raised and a smug smile on her face.

“Damn, I owe Jo five bucks,” Meg purrs then turns with a flip of her hair and retreats.

“Crap…” Dean mutters, trying to straighten he vest and shirt so he doesn’t look completely like he was just making out in a bathroom. Castiel is making no such effort, and just stares forlornly at Dean.

“I still need to go to dinner,” Castiel states.

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “Still?”

“It’s extremely important that I…” Castiel sighs and looks down at his hands, as if they’ll tell him what to do. “It’s important my family and I speak.” Castiel takes a rather unsteady step back towards the dining room and Dean catches him by the elbow.

“You really gonna be okay?” 

Castiel nods, though he looks a bit queasy. That much gin will do that to a guy.

“Yes. Thank you, Dean,” Castiel nods. “Please, uh, keep the drinks coming.” Without another word Castiel straightens himself up and strides away, without waiting for Dean, who stays standing stunned in the hall for a few beats.

Dean rushes back to the bar into time see Castiel heading towards a large table in the center of the dining room where five people are seated. He only stares for a second before a bar towel hits him in the head.

“Dean, you still have a job, remember,” Jo snarks at him. “Though you suck at it tonight.”

“Shut up, I go above and beyond,” Dean grins.

Jo rolls her eyes and heads back out onto the floor.

Dean grabs the pile of drink order tickets from the counter and starts working. Trying not to sneak looks over at Castiel to try and read what going on at what has got to be the most awkward family dinner ever. There’s a smarmy looking bald guy seated next to Cas, beside him is a handsome, brunette woman in a smart grey pant suit. Next to her is a severe blonde who looks a bit annoyed at everyone. One more down is a schulb of a guy with curly grey hair and a goatee. And between that guy and Cas is the girl, who Dean can’t make out very well. Baldy is clapping Cas on the shoulder and Cas looks like he’s about to throw up, which isn’t outside the realm of possibility.

 

 

“Come on, kid, take your coat off and stay a while,” Castiel’s step-father commands.

Castiel swallows thickly, loathe to obey even one more command from Zachariah Milton.

“Please, Castiel, people are giving you looks,” his mother adds.

Castiel complies, but not without the effort to get out of his coat making him feel even more lightheaded and detached from himself.

“And say hello to Hester and Marv,” his mother adds, as Castiel resituates himself in his chair. That’s right, he’s greeted Hannah, but not her parents. He had been distracted by something. Oh, yes, remembering the texture of Dean’s lips. It was a memory much more pleasant than anything the table full of concerned faces had to offer.

He gives a curt nod, and perhaps makes a sound. It proves sufficient. A waitress comes and goes and the inane pleasantries continue for what feels like forever as Cas considers if there is any possibility in the world of kissing Dean again. He’d very much like that. It’s almost the only coherent thought he can muster at the moment.

“Castiel!” his mother says sharply and Castiel snaps back to attention. “Did you not hear Marv’s question?”

“Oh it’s fine, Naomi,” Marv says. He seems smug. Which is usual for him. It’s something Castiel intensely dislikes. “I’m sure the young man has a lot on his mind.”

Castiel squints across the table at Hannah’s father, and then her mother. They look expectant. As if he’s supposed to answer something, even though he was just told he didn’t have to. “Yes. Right,” Castiel attempts. “I have a lot on my mind.” This is true. His mind has been spinning since that bathroom, since before really. Since he’s looked into green eyes. And there were also freckles. But tonight he’s supposed to decide his future.

“Of course, darling,” Hannah agrees kindly. “Dad says you’ve been working very hard.”

“That he has,” Marv grins. “Bright future in the accounting department, this one.”

Castiel take the compliment and says nothing, keenly aware of the ring box sitting heavy in his jacket pocket. His mother had given him his grandmother’s ring. Dean had been wearing a ring. A silver one. And a few black bracelets. Castiel had liked them. He manages a weak smile at Hannah and says nothing.

“Now, Zach, I heard the most ridiculous thing,” Hester interjects, happy, as always to change the topic from Castiel. “Someone is organizing a boycott of your stores?”

His step-father sighs and takes a sip of the iced tea that has just been delivered to the table. The waitress is not the one who kissed him….oh god, what was her name? Instead it’s a redhead with a curious expression. “Oh, some morons on the internet object to the fact we won’t pay for insurance that covers sluts’ abortions.”

The waitress trips and nearly drops Hester’s coca-cola on her. Cas meets her eyes in apology.

“You’ve taken the right stance, dear,” Castiel’s mother agrees, sending an angry glance at the waitress, who deposits iced teas in front of Marv and Hannah. “We make it very clear that this is a Christian company that supports real family values. If someone wants to support fornication and child murder, they can buy their marine supplies elsewhere.”

The waitress places a glass in front of Castiel with shaking hands and for the life of him he can’t remember ordering it. She seems to anticipate the question as he looks up at her. “On the house, remember?” she winks, nodding her head back to the bar. Castiel wishes he had the courage to turn and see if Dean is still there, but that would draw unnecessary attention.

“Next they’ll be wanting you to hire homosexuals,” Hester sneers, continuing the conversation. Castiel watches the waitress’ face go stony. He himself feels a wave of sickness and disgust he’s sure has nothing to do with the alcohol churning in his stomach. Well, not entirely.

“So, are you guys ready to order?” the waitress pipes up thinly. Only now does Castiel notice she has a nametag pined on her white button-down that says ‘Charlie.’

“We’ll need a few more minutes, sweetheart,” Zachariah says, waving her off. She gives Cas one more look before disappearing. “Yes, those…people,” he goes on, nodding at Hester. “Thankfully we’ve avoided hiring any so far. Could you imagine putting that sort of element in a family store?”

“Absolutely not,” Marv agrees and Castiel’s stomach drops. He takes a long sip of the drink – the ‘Cuba libre’ or whatever it is – to steel himself. It’s very strong. “I have the exact same policy. Though we haven’t been as lucky as you, unfortunately.”

“You’ve had to deal with employing homosexuals, Dad? Really?” Hannah asks, curious, but seemingly not concerned.

“Well, let’s just say when certain truths have come to light, and certain employees were not invited to return the next day,” Marv answer as Cas finishes half the cocktail in one nervous swig.

“So, you’ll fire someone for being gay?” Castiel asks, much louder than he means to. The eyes of the entire table turn to him. It must have been his tone, which was admittedly quite angry. “You’re truly so closed-minded?” He’s just as surprised as the rest of the table that he’s said that aloud.

“Now, I don’t think that’s closed-minded, Castiel,” his step-father chimes in. “Merely…family values-oriented.”

“Exactly, we don’t need to encourage that kind of deviancy,” his mother agrees, the warmth in her tone a strange contrast to the bile she’s spewing.

“Dean was right,” Castiel bites back, again, surprised the words come out seemingly before he even thinks them. The effects of alcohol are remarkable. “You are a bunch of bigoted, backward…dicks.”

“Castiel!” his mother gasps. “What did you just say?”

“Honey, are you ok?” Hannah asks uneasily, placing a hand on Castiel’s arm. “And who is Dean?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Castiel mutters. Though it does matter quite a lot. Because Dean was right about a lot of things. “I said, in so many words, that your views are medieval, cruel and…stupid.”

“Castiel. Please don’t raise your voice,” his mother admonishes, her face tense and her color rising. “Someone might hear.”

“Oh, you’re afraid someone from the congregation will hear your disappointing son spouting the radical view that gays are people,” Castiel shoots back. They are getting a few looks. Castiel doesn’t care. He takes another sip and finishes off Cuba Libre and turns his attention to Marv. “Is it indeed your policy to fire an employee if it’s revealed they are gay?” 

Marv bristles, but remains calm. “Yes, that is my policy, and the company’s policy.”

Castiel nods, steeling himself, even as Hannah beside him sniffs the air suspiciously. “Honey, have you been…drinking?”

“Well then,” Castiel declares. “I assume you’ll be firing me then.”

It feels like not just the whole table but the whole restaurant turns to stone. Castiel fights a wave of dizziness and holds Marv’s gaze.

“Castiel, we have talked about these…feelings, remember,” his mother says through gritted teeth. “And we agreed-”

“No, you ordered me to lie, to pretend,” Castiel snaps back. The memory makes the fire inside him rise even more. “Well, I’m through listening to you.”

“Oh my god, you’re drunk!” Hannah cries, testing Castiel’s drink. “Honey, you’re drunk and you don’t know what you’re saying-”

“I am. But I do,” Castiel stammers. “I do know what I’m saying.”

“Castiel stop being ridiculous and pull yourself together, you’re making a scene,” Zachariah orders.

“Hannah, I’m sorry,” Castiel continues, turning to Hannah and waiving his stepfather away. “I care for you, deeply but…I can’t be with you. Not this way. Not any more.”

“Castiel!” his mother nearly yells. “Do not do this! You are clearly drunk, your judgment is compromised and you’re…”

“Gay.” It’s so strange to finally hear himself actually say the word. “I’m gay and I have known this for a while, but tonight I…I’m sorry.”

“What the hell brought this on?” it’s Hester’s turn to yell. Hannah is simply staring at him, wide-eyed and devastated. He wonders why it doesn’t hurt more to look at her but everything seems distant and a bit numb.

“Never mind that, we’re going,” Marv declares. “And, Castiel, I am a man of my word,” he adds, fixing Cas with a look of pure loathing. “Don’t bother coming in to work tomorrow.” Marv grabs his daughter’s arm and drags Hannah from her chair. Hester follows behind them, casting Castiel a look of disgust to match her husband’s.

“Don’t bother coming home either,” his stepfather adds. That's is enough to shock Cas from his stupor.

“What…you’re kicking me out?” he asks, the question is directed at his mother. He expects some compassion, but her face is stone.

“He’s right, Castiel,” she says tightly. “You can come home when you chose to lead a decent, moral life. I’m sorry. This is a lesson you’ll need to learn.”

They rise and turn to go without another word, leaving Castiel sitting at the huge, now-empty table. He doesn’t watch them leave the restaurant. He merely wonders what the memory of this will be in the harsh, sober light of day. Perhaps this should terrify him more. He’s lost his home and his job in less than five minutes. And people are staring.

“So, uh, no orders?”

Cas looks up at the redheaded waitress. She gives him a sheepish grin.

“I…I should pay for the drinks,” Cas stammers and then an idea occurs to him. Or returns. “Can I pay at the bar?” He’s up before there’s an answer but the sight that meets his eyes when he looks at the bar is confusing. The bartender is not Dean. It’s a lovely, thin woman with caramel hair. She’s smiling and flirting and Not Dean. "Where’s Dean?” Castiel asks, feeling like the world is spinning far too fast again.

“He’s done for the night,” the waitress – Charlie – tells him. “But hey, all the drinks are covered!”

Cas nods, fighting the urge to run after his family, or possibly be sick.

“Is there a back way to go out, please?” he asks Charlie. She gives him a kind smile.

“There is now that you mention it,” she smiles. She guides him to the back of the restaurant – thankfully not the way Dean had taken him which Castiel doesn’t think he could bear – and out a back door into an alley. It must be where supplies are delivered and trash is taken away. There’s a few dumpsters and, oh, also a car. It has to be the largest car Castiel has ever seen. It’s black and beautiful and rumbling. Someone must be waiting for someone.

“Have a fun night, guys,” Charlie chirps and pats Castiel on the shoulder. He doesn’t understand until the car door creaks open and Dean, now wearing a leather jacket, climbs out.

“Hey, man, you need a lift?”


	3. India Pale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Burger and beer. Is this a date?

Castiel smiles crookedly at him. It does a bit to calm Dean down, and assure him this isn’t a horrible, horrible idea.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says thoughtfully and Dean grins. “I’d…very much appreciate that.” His voice is a little more unsteady, the more he talks. And he’s not walking as confidently as before. He even leans a bit on the Impala as he makes his way to the passenger door.

“All the booze caught up with you yet?” Dean asks, watching closely as Cas climbs and takes the shotgun seat.

“I believe so. I feel very…” Cas gulps and knits his eyebrows. “Very odd.”

Dean chuckles. “Odd is one word for it.” Dean shifts the car into gear and looks at Cas expectantly. “So, where are we going?”

“I should feel more upset, I think,” Cas continues as if he didn’t hear Dean, squinting into the distance. “I was just fired. I should be more worried.”

“You were _wha_ t?” He had to have heard that wrong.

“Marv, Hannah’s father, he is…well, was, my boss. He objects to employing homosexuals,” Cas explains matter-of-factly.

Dean barely has time to sputter another “What?!” before Cas is steaming ahead.

“I can understand why Hannah and her family were surprised, I’ve never talked with her about sexuality, but, my mother should have known, really. I think Zachariah has been a negative influence on her in terms of tolerance. I don’t think she would have kicked me out had it been just her, but then again…”

“Cas! Hold up!” Dean finally gives up and grabs the guy’s shoulder, the gesture feels weirdly intimate especially considering how recently they were locking lips. At least it gets Cas’s attention and he’s looking curiously at Dean now.

“So, lemme see if I got this,” Dean says, trying to control his breath and horror. “You came out, your girl’s dad fired you, then your parents kicked you out of the house?”

“Well, mother and step-father. And they are correct, I really should be on my own now, I’ve been hiding at home for far too long.”

“Cas, not the point!” Dean gets a set of taken aback puppy eyes for his trouble. “Man…I…I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Castiel asks back, looking completely perplexed.

“Well, I, uh…sort of encouraged you?” Dean mutters, scratching the back of his neck and looking down.

“You were right to. I…this is something I’ve known for a while, Dean you just…helped me confirm it. And gave me some courage.”

“Yeah, liquid courage."

“Either way, I’m grateful to you, not angry,” Cas says and Dean can’t help but meet his eyes. They’re even bluer than he remembers and completely sincere. “I…feel like I should eat something?”

It takes Dean a few seconds to process the change in topic. “Uh, okay…”

“There’s place down on Main that does excellent burgers, would you mind taking me there? I think it would be a good place to make some calls…” Castiel scowls at that.

“Yeah, Rufus’ place, that sounds fine…” Dean stammers. He pulls the Impala into the street, taking some comfort in the familiar rumble of the engine.

“This is an extraordinary vehicle, Dean,” Cas comments, as if reading his mind.

“That’s my baby,” Dean grins. “You know cars?”

“Not in the slightest,” Cas admits and Dean continues to smile. “But that doesn’t make your…baby any less impressive.”

“Well, you’ve got good taste,” Dean says. He sees Cas give a small half smile out of the corner of his eye, then raise his hand to his temple. “You okay?”

“Yes…I just feel rather…disorientated…” Cas mutters. “I assume it’s the alcohol…”

“Food’ll help, maybe a beer,” Dean shrugs back.

Castiel casts him a suspicious look. “Your solution to inebriation it to drink…more?”

“Oldest trick in the book,” Dean smiles.

“I don’t understand, which book?” Cas replies without a hint of irony.

“It…It’s a saying…you…” Dean attempts to explain, only becoming more flustered by the sincere curiosity in the face of the man beside him. “You’re something, Cas, you know that?”

“No,” Castiel shakes his head. “I…I didn’t know that.”

Dean’s the one doing the half-smile thing now. And his cheeks feel a bit warm. Obviously they would, because he’s flirting with the cute, weird guy whose life he just helped turn upside and now they’re going for burgers. Or are they? Cas hadn’t said anything about eating together and he’d just offered the guy a ride to wherever he needed to go. Yeah, sure he’d been hoping that was back to his place but…No, that’s a horrible plan because it’s one thing to get the cute virgin drunk, but it’s another thing to…And come on, the guy just got kicked to the curb and fired and not to mention Dean actually likes him, from what he can tell. Though how the hell can he tell that after, what, a hour or two of knowing the guy? And then there’s all the other ridiculous shit going on in his life that should make him reconsider this. When did the voice in his head start sounding like Sammy? He can actually see the bitchface forming…

“Dean, are you coming?” Dean hadn’t even processed that he had pulled into the parking lot of Rufus’ joint. Cas is already standing half out of the car and staring at him expectantly.

“Huh?”

“I think I owe you at least a burger after the amount of drinks you apparently gave me for free,” Castiel explains.

Dean shakes off the previous train of thought immediately and slips back into the comfortable guise of charm, a raised eyebrow and a cocky smile. “You askin’ me to dinner, Cas? Little fast don’t ya think?”

Cas stares at him in confusion, which was just the reaction Dean had been expecting and, to be honest, hoping for, because the confused look is pretty damn cute on Cas. “I…”

“I’d love a burger,” Dean cuts him off and Cas smiles weakly.

 

~*~*~

 

Castiel stares hopelessly at the screen of his phone where his contacts are displayed in a neat, far too short list of people he cannot possibly call. Trying to decide what he should say and who to contact makes his head spin even more and the alcohol has made it hard to read the names. He has no idea what to do and something like terror is finally sneaking though his drunken haze. He really would prefer not throwing up in front on Dean in the middle of a restaurant.

“Beers and grub are on the way.”

Cas jumps a bit as Dean’s voice punches through his fog. He watches the other man slide into the booth across from him, slipping his own phone into his jacket pocket. He hadn’t asked who Dean was calling. It would probably be impolite to ask now…

“So, uh, did you get in touch with your friend?” Dean asks, apparently not quite as constrained by propriety as Castiel. Or maybe he’s concerned; Cas really can’t tell right now.

“No,” Cas sighs, tossing the phone to the center of the table. “I…I don’t know who to call who would…understand.”

“Come on, you’ve gotta know someone who will get it?” Dean asks back incredulously. Much to Castiel’s shock Dean picks up Castiel’s phone and begins scrolling. “Okay, what about…Rachel?”

“A friend from church who will most certainly not approve of…anything.” Castiel laments. He really should be more ruffled by the intrusion into his privacy. But he isn’t. And it’s not just the alcohol.

“Okay, Luke?”

“A friend from work…he was fired a year ago, though not for being gay, but he’s…” Cas struggles to find the words. “He’s a bit too strong a personality for me to deal with tonight.”

“Okay, we’ll put him in the maybe pile,” Dean shrugs. “Dude, you seriously know a guy named _Balthazar_?”

“Yes, he’d be my first call but…he’s abroad. I haven’t talked to him in a while either. We…didn’t part well,” Castiel mutters.

“Okay, who’s Anna?” Dean obviously notices Castiel wince at the name. “Ex?”

“Sister. She’s also…not around, though I guess she would probably be willing to help me,” Castiel admits finally holding his hand out for the phone.

“Do you need a minute?” Dean asks, finding his politeness at last.

Castiel swallows a wave of nausea and shakes his head. “I’d actually prefer the…support, if that’s alright.”

The look on Dean’s face is perplexed and curious, but also…touched? Cas can’t quite tell. His vision is still fuzzy and getting fuzzier. He steels himself as the phone rings through the line, once, twice, three times…

“ _Castiel_?” He nearly jumps when Anna actually answers. “ _I just received a very interesting voice mail form mother_.”

“Already?” Cas asks sickly, his stomach churning.

Across the table, Dean raises an eyebrow.

“ _So, you finally stood up to her_?” Anna asks back, the tension in her voice reminding him very much of said mother.

“I…I was honest. Finally. I don’t know how much it counts for…” Castiel swallows. Over the phone is not the time for the apologies that need to happen. “Anna, I know we have a lot to say to one another, but I need your help. I don’t know where else to go, could you...”

“ _It’s called a hotel, Castiel, they have them everywhere. I’m sure your savings can cover it_ ,” comes the sharp reply before Castiel can even finish. For some reason this hurts even more than his mother turning him away. “ _I have company right now, I’ll talk to you later_.”

“Anna, wait…” Cas protests but the phone screen tells him the call is already over.

“Okay, so, uh, cross her off the list?”

“She suggests a hotel, ” Castiel laments.

“Whoa, what a b…” Dean stops himself as Castiel raises an eyebrow just as a waitress slides plates of burgers and fries in front of them. “Bad…beat…” Dean attempts. He gets a sidelong look from the waitress but Castiel finds himself chuckling.

The waitress sets a pints of peach-colored beer in front of each of them. Dean gives her a grin and a nod as he raises the glass and takes a swig.

“Everyone I know is either part of the church or work acquaintances it seems,” Castiel sighs, picking up a fry and nibbling, wary of the beer.

“You really don’t get out a lot, huh?” Dean asks through a mouthful of hamburger.

Cas shakes his head mournfully. “Not really.” He follows Dan’s lead and sets into his burger. It’s wonderful and that at least settles him. “I have a teacher I might ask for some help, but I don’t have his number,” he muses between bites.

“How is that?”

Cas looks up curiously from his burger. He didn’t follow that train of thought, but given how much the whole world is fuzzy and wobbly right now, that’s not too surprising.

Dean swallows and wipes his mouth. “I mean, how do you not have a whole mess of friends? Or exes or anything? I mean you’re…”

“What?” Cas squints at Dean. He almost sure he sees a bit of a blush on Dean’s cheeks, but he’s not really trusting anything he’s seeing now. Without looking away he takes his first sip of the beer. It tastes like flowers and miniscule bubbles and bitterness and cold. “This is very good.”

“Can’t go wrong with a good IPA,” Dan shrugs. He must catch Castiel’s look of confusion. “India Pale Ale.”

“Oh yes,” Castiel nods, taking another sip. “The British added extra hops to the brew so the beer wouldn’t go sour on the sea voyage from England to India. With very good results.”

Dean is staring at him and blinking. “Who _are_ you?”

Castiel shrugs and washes down a mouthful of fries with another pull of IPA. “I’m just…Castiel.”

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna need a bit more,” Dean says, taking a fry between his lips very skeptically.

 

~*~*~

 

Castiel, it turns out, is a chatty drunk and very easily sidetracked. Over a long meal, Dean learns: that Cas has lived at home his whole life, though his various older sibling have moved out and drifted from the family, the surprising origins of French fries (“Dean, did you know they’re actually _Belgian_? And they prefer them with mayonnaise?”), that until today Cas worked in the accounting department of his girlfriend’s dad’s business (which has something to do with publishing? Maybe?) and hated it, that his father either disappeared or died when he was a very small kid, and more than Dean ever wanted to know about cat penises.

That last one is delivered with more than a few slurred words, Dean’s cue that Cas has passed from "cute and drunk" to "about to fall over." He should not have bought the guy a second beer, but the rant about lipstick had been too good not to encourage.

“So, uh…are you gonna listen to big sis and get a hotel room?” Dean asks, trying to draw Castiel’s attention from what is apparently a fascinating ketchup bottle.

“Huh?” Cas asks. His eyes are bleary as he blinks at Dean, obviously trying to focus. He’s doing the tilting of the head thing that makes him look like very lost but ruggedly handsome bird.

“Where are you gonna sleep, man? I’m not just gonna drop you on a street corner, wouldn’t be gentlemanly,” Dean explains, rising from the booth and throwing some cash between the plates as an extra tip, even though Cas already paid.

“I…Uh…” Cas looks suddenly very queasy and panicky.

Oh, screw it. He can’t leave the lost puppy all alone.

“Hey, you bought me dinner, I’d be a prude if I didn’t invite you back to my place,” Dean grins down at Cas, extending a hand.

“Are you…” Cas looks even more terrified.

Dean sighs. “I’m trying to say that I have a really nice couch and I don’t live too far from here and you’re welcome to crash,” Dean explains slowly, waiting for it to process in the poor guy’s soggy brain.

“Oh,” Cas nods. “I would…very much appreciate that.”

Dean grins in triumph as Cas takes his hand. He guides Cas back to the Impala – luckily the guy only trips once - and even opens the door for Cas to trundle himself inside. The ride to his place is short and quiet, but not awkward quiet. It’s just companionable silence that has Dean entertaining the very weird thought that a road trip with Cas would be pretty cool. He’s gathered so far that the guy hasn’t even traveled that far out of the state, or even to many big cities, though he’s very into history and art and stuff.

“You own a house?” Cas asks in surprise as they pull into the driveway.

Dean shrugs. “We inherited it. It’s kinda crap.” He takes a look at the little bungalow as he steps outside, a little mad, as usual, that the detached garage is too full of crap to park his baby in and that they need to paint the front steps.

Cas dutifully follows him in through the side door into the kitchen. The clock on the oven is the only light. Home before midnight, light a good citizen, Dean thinks to himself.

Cas winces when Dean flips on the overhead light and leans against the counter. “This is a very nice home,” Cas remarks, swallowing the words. His voice is, amazingly, even rougher and deeper than at the beginning of the night.

“Thanks,” Dean smiles.

“This is the first time a male has invited me to his residence after…” Cas stumbles on the words and looks a bit like he’s blushing. “You were joking when you said it was a date, weren’t you?”

“Well, I don’t usually let dates get this drunk,” Dean says quickly and Castiel’s face falls. “But, well, I don’t think any normal rules apply to you, Cas. I don’t kiss many dates against the sink at work either.” That earns him half a smile and a stare.

“I keep thinking about kissing you, it’s extremely distracting,” Castiel confesses and Dean quirks an eyebrow. “You are…very attractive. I’m sure you’re aware of that, of course, but it’s extremely disconcerting to look at a mouth like yours and remember kissing it.”

Dean laughs softly, striding closer to Cas. “Are you always this subtle, or is it just when you’re hammered?” Dean asks.

“I can’t tell if that’s sarcasm,” Cas sighs. “You’re much confusing. I mean, very…very…” Cas is looking flushed now, and Dean can’t take his eyes off him or erase the smile from his own face.

“Nah, I’m an open book,” Dean grins, pushing boldly into Castiel’s personal space. The guy is breathing hard and seriously flushed. “Anyone ever tell you you’re kinda cute when you’re flustered?”

“No, I haven’t been told that,” Cas replies breathlessly. “Do you intend to kiss me again? I'd very much like that, but I'm also very confused by you in general.” To be honest, the question doesn’t even surprise Dean.

“Well, if this was a date, I’d kinda have to; wouldn’t want to disappoint,” Dean smiles and fingers the lapel of the other man’s trench coat.

Castiel swallows thickly. “And if it wasn’t?”

Dean gives a small shrug. “Let’s go with it was.”

This time when he kisses Cas it’s slow, gentle. The push of lips against lips is careful and it takes Cas a few seconds to catch up to what’s happening and respond. He tilts his head and opens his mouth just enough so that Dean can catch his lower lip, then dart his tongue out to get the faintest taste of him. Dean’s sort of amazed – sort of because his brain stopped functioning a few seconds into this – because this isn’t what he had planned. It’s soft and studied, the way their mouths knead together and their breath mingles. It’s hot, sure, but it also…he is not gonna use the word romantic, because that’s a can of bad news he’s not opening but…it’s something else, that’s for damn sure.

“Dean,” Cas rasps as they break apart and it’s damn near the hottest sound Dean’s ever heard. He’s not sure if that makes him a conceited prick or not, but at least it gets his brain (at least his downstairs brain) back in gear.

Dean dives into a new kiss, and this one is definitely not slow or gentle. Cas is right with him, jumping from zero to sixty in 2.3 seconds and grabbing Dean’s shoulders and hair like he’s gonna fall off the face of the earth if he doesn’t. There’s a clatter of silverware in the drying rack as Cas spins him and pins him against the counter. Dean doesn’t mind a bit and pushes his hands past Cas’ coat and jacket and against his chest. Oh, and, nerdy account dude is apparently ripped. This is a pleasant surprise and definitely requires more investigation. Dean realizes distantly that there should be some alarm bells going off somewhere telling him that he should not be rucking up the drunk virgin’s shirt in a desperate attempt to touch some skin, or considering the various things he the could do on and against the kitchen counters, but…they just aren’t there.

Cas gasps and pulls away when Dean’s hands finally find his abs. The loss of contact and the terrified look on Cas' face is enough of a shock to make Dean actually start thinking again.

“Sorry,” Dean says trying to rein himself in and catch his breath. Cas is swallowing, looking green and confused.

“No it’s not that…” Cas gulps. “I just…oh god…” And without any more warning Cas is leaning past Dean and puking his guts out into Dean’s kitchen sink.

“Well, that’s one way to put the breaks on,” Dean mutters, shaking his head. He probably should have expected this.

“I’m…I’m sorry…I…” Cas manages to choke out before another wave hits. Dean shakes his head, even though Cas can’t see and turns on the tap to start washing away the mass.

“Hey, at least you made it in the sink,” Dean consoles the guy, placing a comforting hand on the small of his back as he heaves again. “Not that I don’t need to mop in here but…” Castiel groans and Dean doesn’t continue.

A few minutes later, Dean turns off the tap, confident there’ nothing left inside the poor guy to get out. A calming touch to Cas shoulder and a quick run upstairs later, and Cas is brushing his teeth over the sink and looking absolutely miserable.

“If it makes you feel better, you’re probably gonna feel even worse tomorrow,” Dean says leaning next to Cas and pushing a lock of dark hair off the guy’s forehead.

Cas glares at him as he rinses and spits. “That does not make me feel better,” he grimaces.

“Let’s get you horizontal, okay?” Dean replies and Cas allows himself to be guided to the living room and the couch. “I’ll be right back,” Dean assures him.

Of course, by the time Dean is back, with a small trash can to put beside the couch just in case, Cas is already snoring into the pillows.


	4. Hair of the Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hangovers suck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I suck so bad at updates. trying to get better.

In the dream he does not screw things up. Castiel likes that. Even though it’s jumbled and a bit feverish and every time he moves an inch he wants to die, the dream itself is good and he hangs onto it as much as he can as consciousness tries to take him. If he concentrates he can see freckles and green eyes, and a scenario plays out where there are no shirts (he’s unsure about the pants) and he’s articulate and Dean is laughing and Cas is safe. And then there’s kissing…except it’s not the same. It’s not soft. In fact the tongue on his...cheek(?) is a bit like sandpaper and there are too many teeth and Dean’s breath is terrible…

“Bones! Off!” The command lurches Cas into full consciousness, though it's no less confusing, as there is a huge golden retriever enthusiastically licking the drool from his chin. He does not remember a dog from last night. “Bones!” the voice that is definitely not Dean’s repeats and a human of massive proportions to match the dog jumps into Castiel’s vision.

“It’s okay…” Cas croaks. “I…” He can’t find words. Just opening his eyes up and moving is torture. Bones whines as his master pulls him away from Cas, who pushes through the wave of nausea and suddenly pounding headache to sit up. “You’re not Dean,” he mutters, trying to take in the man holding back the dog.

“Nope,” the man replies tersely. “And you are not one of Dean’s work friends.”

“Wha-what?” Cas stammers. He must have missed something. He can barely think through the pain and sickness. He can tell that the man is unhappy though. He’s handsome, with shaggy brown hair and tan skin and is definitely, definitely unhappy.

“You wanna explain what you’re doing in my house, bud?” the man asks. His house? Oh god, this _is_ Dean’s house, isn’t it? Had he mentioned roommates? Cas can’t remember. Though the rage this man seems to be holding back seems more appropriate for…Dean wouldn’t have brought him back to his place if he had a boyfriend, would he? He wouldn’t have kissed him. That did happen, didn’t it? It had to have. The memory of kissing Dean in the kitchen is almost as horribly clear as the memory of ruining everything by vomiting his entire digestive tract into the sink…

“Oh god…” Cas groans, letting his head fall into his hands and shielding his eyes from the blistering sunlight. “I…Dean, he…” He can't even begin to explain. “I should just go.”

“Maybe that’s best,” the other man agrees, pursing his lips and turning his glare to the dog, who he seems to resent for his continued tail wagging and attention on Castiel.

With a massive effort Castiel rises, though his insides seemed to lag far behind. He gathers his suit jacket and trench from where they had been folded and placed beside him at some point in the night, and begins to shuffle towards the front door. This certainly tops all the nightmare ways he could have imagined the day after coming out starting. He gives small wave at the other man and grunts before opening the door.

“Leave it to Dean to make his hook up sleep on the couch,” he hears the man mutter, probably to the dog, as the door closes behind him.

Cas takes a few deep breaths of the fresh morning air, praying feebly that it will clear his mind and that in whatever time he takes to compose himself he might figure out where to go from here. He's halfway through his eighth breath when the thought occurs that he has no place at all to go or be.

“Cas?”

Castiel’s eyes snap open, filing his brain with light, which, along with the headache and confusion, makes it even harder to believe Dean is standing at the foot of the stairs looking up at him in bewilderment.

“You better not be leavin' without a goodbye,” Dean smirks, hefting the brown paper bag of groceries he’s carrying to the side.

“I…uh…” Castiel has never been so at a loss for words. “I was put under the impression I wasn’t welcome by your…”

“Goddamnit,” Dean cuts Castiel off, bounding up the stairs and nudging Cas back towards the door with the groceries. “Sam!” Dean yells as he burst into the house, at a volume that makes Cas wince.

“Dean!” The other man, Sam apparently, jumps up from where he had been petting the dog, about to protest.

“Please tell me you did not kick Cas out on his ass,” Dean cuts him off.

“I figured he was just another…” Sam thinks better of the statement as he catches Dean’s furious glare. Castiel is somewhat certain he probably looks a little sick at the implication as well. He still feels sick in general.

“Yeah well he’s not. Okay?” Dean mutters. “He needed a place to crash because he got kicked to the curb by his entire asshole family last night, so go easy.”

Sam gives Castiel a cowed, apologetic look. “Uh, sorry man, that…that sucks.”

“I agree,” Castiel mutters. A very awkward silence, broken only by Bones’ panting as he sits happily beside Sam, settles between the three of them. Castiel sneaks a glance at Dean. He looks even more beautiful in the light of day, which is both unsettling and frustrating.

“So, uh, Sam, this is Cas,” Dean finally says, gesturing with his free hand in between them. “Cas, this is my idiot little brother, Sam.”

Castiel blinks, some of his earlier distress and confusing dissipating. “Your brother?”

“Yeah, to my eternal shame,” Dean grumbles, striding from the living room and into the kitchen. “Who wasn’t supposed to break in until noon.”

Sam scowls and follows Dean, who has begun to unload his groceries. “Bones started whining when we ran by, sue me, I thought you’d want to see him.”

“So you’re to blame, huh, hairball?” Dean says through a barely suppressed smile, glancing at the dog, who is now standing by Castiel in the doorway to the kitchen. Bones gives an enthusiastic bark and wags his entire body.

“So you don’t live here?” Cas asks in confusion, absently petting the dog behind the ears.

“Well, uh, technically no,” Sam answers, looking a bit embarrassed. "Not anymore."

“Say, Cas, you wanna steal a shower? You look like you need it,” Dean interrupts, finally having laid the groceries out on the counter.

Castiel blinks a few times, realizing he probably smells like he needs it as well, which might explain the dog’s interest in him. “Are you sure it’s not an inconvenience?”

“First step in hangover care is a good long shower, have at it,” Dean replies. “Then we can get to step two, which is a nice, greasy breakfast and lots of coffee, sound good?”

“Sounds…very good,” Cas murmurs but hesitates.

“Upstairs, second door on the left,” Dean supplies. “You like your bacon normal or extra crispy like this weirdo, by the way?”

“Uh, normal is fine,” Castiel replies before tearing his eyes off of Dean, realizing a bit too late he’s been staring and Sam has noticed. He makes his way to the bathroom slowly but without incident, his headache still horrendous, but at least it’s not fighting with confusion and mounting terror, at least not too much.

When he is finally under the stream of hot water, he understand quite fully why Dean recommended this, though he tries resolutely no to think too hard on what else Dean could teach him.

 

*~*~*

 

“Okay, dude, what the hell?”

Well, at least Sam waited until they could hear the water running in the shower before he started in, Dean thinks.

“What?” Dean deflects, throwing bacon into the cast iron skillet he’s been heating on the stove. The hash browns are already in the other pan and coffee is brewing.

“Dean, you don’t do sleepovers,” Sam pushes, sprawling in a chair at the kitchen table. “Or so you’ve told me, and you certainly don’t offer up your couch to strangers…”

“Wait, are you mad me for theoretically sleeping with him or not sleeping with him, I’m confused."

“Well, did you?” Sam demands.

Dean doesn’t even have to look to know that Sam is using his judging eyebrows. “No! I wouldn’t sleep with someone and then stick them on the couch. That’d just be fucking rude."

“Well something happened, because the guy was looking at you like…” Sam pauses in search of a suitable metaphor long enough for Dean to roll his eyes at him over his shoulder.

“Yeah he does that, he’s a little weird,” Dean shrugs and tries to keep the undertone of ‘and it’s kinda cute’ out of his voice. He fails.

“Dean.”

Ugh, he hates to hear his name in _the tone_. “Fine. We kissed. That’s it,” Dean confesses at last and Sam lets out an ‘I fucking knew it’ sigh.

“And you met him at work? While you were supposed to be, you know, working?” 

“It’s kinda complicated, okay?” Dean grumbles, pushing the sizzling bacon around the pan.

“Complicated?”

“He came in for a drink, I may have, uh…ended up encouraging him to come out to his family without really knowing it.”

“You what?”

“And he did and they told him to never come back home, AND he also got fired for his trouble,” Dean barrels on. “I didn’t let him stay just 'cause I like him; it was the decent thing to do.

“Kicked out and fired…shit,” Sam says, finally easing off. “Dean, it’s okay if you like someone, it is, but what if Jody had picked this morning to come by?”

“Sam…” Dean warns, clenching his jaw.

“She said to be prepared for her to stop in by at any time.” Great now Sam has found a new topic to latch onto like a tic.

“Then I would have dealt with it,” Dean shoots back. “It’s my fucking life, Sam, I can handle things.”

“That’s not what the judge seems to think.”

There’s a crash as Dean throws his spatula across on to the counter and rounds on Sam. “What the hell climbed up your ass today? Since when do you care again?” Dean knows that was a low blow. But Sam had brought out the big guns already. It was fair.

“Fine you’re right, I won’t interfere, go ahead and…do whatever…” Sam replies tersely, leaning down to soothe Bones, who had fled under the table. “I just…” The sound of the shower turning off above them shuts Sam down.

“I know,” Dean grumbles, grabbing the spatula back to transfer the bacon to a paper towel-lined plate and then to jostle the hash browns a bit. He’s so tired of the same fight, the one that had been going in circles for months, hell, _years_ now. There’s no winning it for either of them. “So, uh, how’s the house of nerds?”

“Kevin’s already started outlining for finals,” Sam sighs as Dean cracks four eggs into the bacon grease.

“Dude, that’s not for like, a month right?” Dean asked back. He tries to keep Sam’s law school schedule straight but it always seems like he's studying or briefing something and Dean isn’t even sure what briefing is.

“Month and a half, yeah,” Sam confirms.

“That kid is insane,” Dean mutters. Kevin was the only one of Sam’s roommate Dean has met and the kid had been positively twitchy. Guess that’s what happens when you end up in law school before you can even legally drink.

“Makes more sense when you’ve met his mom,” Sam shrugs. “Last time they skyped _I_ ended up reading a week ahead in two classes.”

“Yikes.” Dean doesn’t say any more as he flips Sam’s eggs. He has no idea where the kid learned to like broken over hard instead of over easy like a decent human, but he’s not gonna comment today.

“Everyone’s already getting antsy about summer clerkships too,” Sam goes on. “They say that where you work between second and third year is the most important aspect for getting a job after the bar.” There’s weariness in Sam’s voice, probably at the prospect that law school has proved to be one hurdle or rat race after another instead of the training to be a knight in shining armor he’d been hoping for.

“I’ll sure you’ll find something good,” Dean reassures him. “And hey, if you want me to introduce you to some lawyers…” The joke earns him a ‘too soon’ glare.

“You should be introducing Cas to some,” Sam counters. “Not that it’ll make a difference, but getting canned for coming out shouldn’t be allowed.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not illegal in this state,” a gravel voice interjects tiredly from the kitchen door. Bones jumps up to greet Cas as Dean takes in the sight of him. His hair is still damp and there’s wetness around the collar and shoulders of his dress shirt. He’s left off the coat and tie and has rolled up his sleeve, and his face is speckled with stubble. Also he’s more gorgeous than Dean remembered.

“You, uh, look better,” Dean stutters and he’s not sure if he’s blushing because he’s an idiot or because he can see Sam from the corner of his eyes fighting so hard not to smirk he’s gonna pull something.

“Thank you, I feel…better,” Cas replies, though he still sounds a bit ill. “That smells wonderful.”

It takes Dean a moment to remember the pans of food in front of him. “Oh, uh, yeah. How do you like your eggs?”

“Over easy, please,” Cas answers politely.

Dean gives Sam a triumphant smirk and sets to it.

“I’m…I’m really sorry I was a jerk to you earlier,” Sam says as Cas takes a seat at the table. Dean dearly wishes he could see their faces.

“It’s fine, you thought I was…”

“Don’t worry,” Sam cuts him off. “It sounds like you had a crap night, and anyone Bones likes this much has to be cool.”

Dean takes a second to see that Bones is snuggled up against Cas, his head in the man’s lap and tongue lolling out to the side as Cas scratches behind his ear.

“Dogs are good judges of character, I believe,” Cas says with a smile in his voice.

“You know, you really should talk to a lawyer about getting fired,” Sam says.

“Sam’s in his second year at law school at KU, he thinks suing people in the answer to everything,” Dean interjects, moving the hash browns on to a plate beside the bacon.

“That’s very kind, but I don’t think I want my old job back anyway,” Cas replies. “I hated it, but I didn’t think I could get away.”

“Well, you did,” Dean grins, turning with his hands full of food and laying them on the table. “You’re pretty darn free now.”

“Yes, that would appear to be the case,” Cas murmurs and takes a few strip of bacon onto his plate.

Dean can’t help staring a bit even though hr should be pouring some coffee for the poor guy.

“So what are you gonna do now?” Sam is the one who asks it but Cas looks up at Dean silently as his answer, holding his gaze and making Dean feel both nervous and flattered at the same time. Why in god’s name would Cas be looking at him for hope or help or whatever when he’d been so crappy with his advice so far?

“I don’t know,” Cas answers finally. “I think I’ll start with coffee.”

 

*~*~*

 

“It doesn’t look like anyone is home.”

Dean is right, Cas thinks. There are no cars in the driveway of his (now former) home, and all the blinds are politely pulled, still there’s no way of knowing for sure.

“Zachariah is at work and my mother usually works with the Junior League on Wednesdays,” Castiel recites aloud, as if saying it will make it for sure.

Dean gives him a nod of encouragement from his place behind the wheel of the mammoth car (which Dean had explained earlier was a 1967 Chevrolet Impala, which, Dean has also explained, was 'the most badass car ever made by human hands'). Somehow it doesn’t seem to motivate Cas enough to move. “You do have a key, right, or are we breaking in? Man, and me without my lock pick.”

Castiel turns fully to Dean, more than confused.

“Kidding,” Dean assures him, his face melting from a grin into something gentler and warmer. It settles Cas a bit. “It’s okay to be nervous,” he goes on, as if reading Castiel’s mind, or probably just his body language. “Family can hurt you more than anyone, believe me I know.”

Castiel frowns, wondering what the story is behind that statement. There had been definite tension between Dean and his brother this morning, as if there was some wound between then that had yet to fully heal. Especially when Sam had left to continue his run with Bones, Dean had seemed particularly troubled. Castiel hadn’t wanted to pry at that point. Dean had already been more than generous and had offered at that point to help Cas collect his things from home, which was help Cas couldn’t afford to lose by being nosy.

Of course, now that he was here, staring at the perfectly manicured lawn, his mother’s rosebushes and the useless decorative shutters of his home, he's seriously considering if it would be better to just start fresh with nothing.

“Cas?”

Cas shook himself free of that train of thought at the sound of Dean’s voice. “I…what do I say to her if she’s there?”

Dean canted his head to the side, pursing his lips as he thought which was highly distracting, but in a pleasant way. “Well, first time my dad caught me with a guy he broke bottle over my head. Needed three stiches…and I didn’t talk to him for about a month.”

“And?” Cas asks, not able to hide his horror.

“And when I did I told him to go fuck himself,” Dean shrugs. “And so did my mom, but she’d said that a lot already, so…” Something darkens Dean’s expression but he shakes it off. “So, uh…”

“If I said that to my mother, her head might actually explode,” Cas muses. “Which might be interesting to see, now that I think of it.”

“Oh, uh, good?” Dean asks as Cas moves without warning to get out of the car.

“Would you mind coming with me?” Cas asks over his shoulder, steeling himself. He hears the creak of the car door immediately. He knows it’s strange to ask so much of a man who is, all things considered, still a stranger, but he finds that Dean has a way of making him brave. Or stupid. Or both.

Cas strides down the neat path to the front door, artfully placed gravel crunching beneath his and Dean’s feet. He sighs with relief when his key still works. He wouldn't have put it past his mother to immediately change the locks once she had decided he was no longer welcome. Then again, she this might be her way of “keeping the door open” for him for when he comes slinking back, contrite and humiliated.

“Thank you for doing this, by the way,” Cas tells Dean without looking at him as he heads up the curving staircase from the two story open foyer to the upper floor and his room.

“Yeah, I dunno if I would have encouraged you if I’d known your family was loaded…” Dean mutters in return and Cas smiles a bit. He's always found the house to be too ostentatious. They reach his room easily but Castiel hesitates at the door. “What’s the matter, never had a gentleman caller upstairs before?” Dean suggests, winking as he catches Castiel’s eye.

“I…I haven’t had any callers in my room. Ever,” Cas mutters, blushing. This seems only to encourage Dean, but Cas can’t imagine the fact that he’s inexperienced and awkward in romantic relationships is anything but a point against his desirability, to be added to a long list. “I’m sorry I threw up in you sink.”

“That’s where you mind went?” Dean asks back, chuckling.

Cas scowls and fiddles with his door handle. “I just…”

“Hey, it’s okay. I know…I mean I hope it wasn’t about me,” Dean reassures him, but the knot in Castiel’s stomach is still there.

“It’s just…you don’t have to flirt or…” He’s not finding the right words for this. “I understand if you would rather…”

“Hey, hey,” Dean says softly and suddenly there’s a gentle hand on Castiel’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, okay. Let’s get your stuff out of here and then we can talk a bit about what I’d rather do to you.”

Now Cas is blushing furiously, wishing he could tear his eyes away from Dean’s face. Dean is right this, is not the conversation they should be having right now, and he certainly shouldn’t still be obsessing over this strange bartender’s mouth when his life is in ruins partly because said bartender has gifted him with a kiss that was positively world-shaking. Cas tries to stop himself from licking his lips, but then Dean does and…

He’s not sure, but Cas thinks he’s the one the moved into the kiss first, caught in the moment, but Dean doesn’t really seem to mind it. It’s different, kissing Dean while actually sober, and different in a wonderful way. The floor still seems to drop a bit but now Cas is more aware of everything, from the feel of Dean’s lips and the brush of his tongue to the texture of the leather jacket Cas seems to have grabbed in the moment. It’s a very good kiss, in Castiel’s opinion and limited experience.

Which makes the sound of a key in the front door all the more alarming. Cas pulls back, feeling every drop of blood drain from his body.

“Shit,” Dean whispers as the front door opens below, clearly visible from the upper level.

“Shit,” Cas echoes, earning an eyebrow from Dean. He ignores it because his mother is staring up at him from below and Cas suddenly feels sicker than when he woke up.


	5. Old Fashioned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, guys, an update after two freaking YEARS. I'm sorry it's short but that's where the rhythm went, but there is MORE TO COME. I have a plan, I have some time and I'll try to keep updating as much as I can between the other, uh, three small fics I have in the works right now...Also the rating on this is going to change from M to E soon, cause since I started this baby I learn to write smut! Woohoo.
> 
> Thanks for hanging in there with me.

“Castiel! What on earth are you doing?” the woman in the grey pant suit staring at them from the bottom of the stairs shrieks.

“Hello, Mother,” Cas mutters, teeth gritted. Dean can see the immediate change in the other man: he shrinks and goes tense, avoiding all eye contact as his mother stalks up the stairs. It's a bummer on so many levels because that kiss was just getting good and Dean also is gonna have to stop himself from calling out a woman he's never met before on being a heinous, homophobic bitch.

“I thought I made it clear that you were not welcome in this house and you come in here and defile it with this disgusting behavior?” Mommy Dearest goes on.

“Hi, I actually go by Dean, only my dad calls me disgusting behavior,” Dean says with a cold smile and Cas and his mother give him identical looks of shock. “I’m just helping Cas get his stuff.”

“Oh yes, that’s exactly what it looked like,” Mrs. Novak sneers. "Castiel...is this the kind of thing you've been keeping from us? Cavorting with a homosexual in secret?"

"Bisexual," Dean corrects and bith Cas and his mom give him a 'commentary is not appreciated right now' look.

“Mother, I just need a few things and then I’ll return to exile,” Cas says, tugging Dean towards his room.

“I am not letting you go in there _alone_ with this hooligan,” Mrs. Novak snaps. Dean’s eyes fly wide but Cas’s face turns hard. “Especially after that disgusting display.”

“Lucky for me you lost the right to tell me what to do when you decided your twisted morals were more important that your child,” Cas says and pulls Dean through the door into his room without another word as his mother gapes after them.

“Wow,” Dean mutters to himself.

“I’m sorry-”

“Who the hell still says ‘hooligan?’”

Cas blinks at him then visibly relaxes. “She also warned me about the dangers of scarlet women and floozies in college,” he says, wry and weary.

“Guess she didn’t have to worry about that,” Dean says, looking around Cas’s sparse room. There’s not much on the walls save for a few diplomas and certificates and one framed print of Van Gogh’s “Starry Night.” The only pictures of people are in frames on the desk, and they look at least a decade old if not more. Pictures of a better time is certainly something Dean can identify with. There’s a full-sized bed, chest of drawers, closet, a packed shelf of books and desk with a laptop on it, but not much else.

“I know it’s boring,” Cas comments, pulling a suitcase from the closet and setting it on the bed.

“Nah, it’s fine. Beige with a bit of blue – sorta your signature look.” Cas, still in the trench coat, takes the compliment and starts piling clothes into the bag. “Bet all the excitement is just hiding under the surface here too,” Dean adds with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“You shouldn’t flirt with my mother outside,” Cas says, though Dean thinks he catches a twinkle in his eye as he starts loading the contents of his top drawer into the suitcase. Dean politely doesn’t examine Cas’s underwear collection.

“Thought you were done caring about her rules.”

“She’s and my step-father are lifetime NRA members and she teaches women’s self-defense at our parish. I’m more worried for your safety,” Cas deadpans and Dean’s not sure if it’s supposed to be a joke.

“Well that's a boner killer. No fooling around it is." He notes a slight blush on Cas’s cheeks and mentally pats himself on the back for _not_ mentioning anything else dick related to see if he can get that blush to deepen. “Uh, can I help?”

“Grab a few shirts from the closet.”

“Sue which…” Dean doesn’t have to ask which ones because aside from a few tees and two hideous sweaters, Cas only owns white oxfords. “Okay. So you have a look…”

“I had a dress code.” Cas looks past Dean at the row of identical shirts an something lights in his eyes. “Please hands me the tees and the sweaters.”

Dean smiles as he complies. Cas shoves what look like three more drawers worth of clothes into the bag along with a few books and the pictures from the desk then packs away his computer and looks around the room, sighing.

“You okay?”

“It’s just slightly terrifying, packing up and not knowing at all where I’m going.” Cas sounds more thoughtful and bitter than afraid, which maybe counts for something.

“You’re a smart guy, you’ll do fine,” Dean says automatically. “We’ll make sure you land on your feet.”

“We?”

“I don’t kiss and run,” Dean says with his best rakish grin. That’s actually a gigantic lie, because Dean is very good at kissing (and other things) and running. But maybe this can be different. The fact he’s even thinking that is sort of insane, but it's the good kind of insane. If that's a thing. He's sure the urge to skedaddle and hide will come as soon as Cas gets too close to all the nasty, messy parts of him that dean wishes he could cut out, but now...he's right where he wants to be. Weird.

“That’s comforting, at least,” Cas says, though his face is still sad. “It helps convince me that this is…just the end of a stage of my life, not the end of my life entirely.”

“See, optimism.” Dean tries to keep his voice and face perky and Cas’s weak smile in response looks just as forced, but hey, it’s something.

“Let’s go,” Cas says with a resolute nod, grabbing his bags.

“You don’t need anything else?” Dean asks. There’s still a lot left in the room. “How about this?” Dean grabs the Starry Night off the wall and raises his eyebrows in question.

“Fine, that’s it though.”

“Aye aye.”

Dean braces himself for confrontation as they leave the room and he can tell by the determined set of Cas’s shoulders in his baggy coat that he’s doing the same. Mrs. Novak isn’t in the hall or at the bottom of the stairs. It almost looks like they’re going to get away free and clear until a polite cough sounds when Dean puts his hand on the doorknob.

“So, you’re really leaving?”

Dean and Cas turn to stare at Mrs. Novak where she stands in the entrance to the parlor (Dean think that’s what the room is called).

“You’re the one who doesn’t want me here, Mother,” Cas replies with ice in his tone.

“I want you to live a life free of sin, Castiel.”

Dean rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to tell Mrs. Novak exactly where she can shove her ideas about sin, but Cas places a hand on his wrist to silence him.

“Mother, respectfully, go fuck yourself.”

Dean’s fully expecting Mrs. Novak to freeze and dissolve into ash based on the look on her face. Cas doesn’t wait for a response, just pushes past Dean out the door, leaving Dean to shrug and smile at the thunderstruck woman. “Uh, what he said.”

Dean has to rush after Cas to get to the Impala at the same time and open the trunk. Cas doesn’t speak as they dump his things inside and climb in the car.

“That did feel good,” Cas says, as Dean starts driving, heading in the general direction of work.

“It was pretty badass…”

“But?”

“I’m just wondering where you want to go now.”

Cas looks down at his laps, face falling in quiet panic again. God, no one should be able to go from stone cold to injured puppy that fast.  “I…”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got an idea.

 

~*~*~

 

Castiel frowns when Dean pulls up in front an unfamiliar house. When they had turned off the main road he had thought with an embarrassing surge of joy that they were going back to Dean’s, but they had turned into a different neighborhood.

“Dean, where –”

“So, here’s the thing,” Dean starts before Cas can get out his question. He looks distinctly nervous, like he’s trying to find the right words for a difficult situation. “I wanna help you out, but I can’t offer you a spot at my place for, well, a lot of reasons.”

Castiel’s stomach drops like he swallowed a cannonball. This is the gentle goodbye he’s been dreading all day, but it’s even more devastating than he imagined it would be.

“Hey, hey! Don’t look like that,” Dean says, unbuckling his seatbelt and moving closer. His hand on Cas’s cheek forcing him to look into Dean’s eyes is comforting and more confusing all at once. “I can’t live with you because I wanna date you.”

“What?” That doesn’t compute at all. Castiel feels like he’s drunk again and trying to steady himself.

“Listen, my life is…well, it less of a mess than is used to be but it’s still screwed up. But I think, we might have a chance at a good thing if we give it a try,” Dean explains, or tries to. Castiel is still at a loss.

“I understand that dating a roommate would cause awkwardness,” Castiel ponders aloud.

“Yeah, that. And I can’t-” Dean bites his lips, holding something back. “I _don’t_ wanna fuck this up or fuck you over.”

“But you do want to-”

“Fu—Find out where this goes!” Cas can’t help but chuckle at the near slip and the mortified look on Dean’s face. He still can’t even believe someone like Dean has any interest in him at all. The thought of doing more than kissing him is…disconcerting but not unwelcome.

“I’d like that too,” Cas manages to reply which earns a smile from Dean.

“Cool, okay, so…I remember my friend just had a roomie movie out so, I thought she might still have a spot for someone. I think you met her last night, she was your waitress.”

“Charlie?”

“Yeah, come on. Let’s hope she’s home,” Dean says, getting out of the car. “And no one else is,” he adds under his breath.

“Dean-o!!” A voice calls from the second-floor window.

“Crap,” Dean mutters as they look up towards the caller: a man with a mullet, holding a beer. Castiel can’t tell if he’s wearing pants, thanks to the angle of the window but he’s certainly not wearing a shirt. “Hey, Ash. Charlie home?”

“That’s a yes. The queen is in the castle,” Ash calls back down. “Doors unlocked.”

“Put on some pants if you come down, okay?” Dean yells back. He shakes his head an motions for Cas to follow him inside.

The house is older and bigger than Dean’s, maybe Edwardian, with a substantial porch and a heavy front door. Dean obviously knows the place well and feels familiar enough to walk right in and straight to the living room where Charlie and a woman with black hair and black lipstick are playing video games with more passion than Cas has ever seen.

“You’re down to your last bar, Bradbury!” The other girl cries, violently elbowing Charlie.

“It’s not over till it’s – Dean!” Charlie drops her control and jumps up from the couch. The other girl huffs in annoyance. “What are you – oh, hey! Guess your second dinner went better than your first!” Charlie says to Cas, sending him a confusing grin.

“No, it…Cas crashed at my place ’cause his asshole family threw him out,” Dean explains with a familiar sort of exasperation.

“Aw, dang, I was shipping it hard,” Charlie mutters nd the girl on the couch scoffs pointedly.

“Hey, Tessa,” Dean says sourly.

“I don’t understand that term,” Cas says, not sure of returning Charlie’s grin. “But Dean and I did-”

“Stuff that doesn’t need talkin’ about,” Dean interrupts even as Charlie’s face lights with interest. “I’m here because I know you’ve got a spare room since Jesse moved in with Cesar.”

“And we need a new gay boy to assure the balance of power in the house endures, yes!” Charlie almost squeals.

“I, uh…” No one has ever called Castiel ‘gay’ without meaning it as an insult or a condemnation. It’s still strange to hear.

“Oh, I’m gay too! Well, for the ladies.” Charlie pipes up, as if reading Castiel’s mind. “Everyone in the house is somewhere on the spectrum. One big rainbow family.”

“Wait, Tessa is…”

“Aro, asshole,” Tessa says from the couch.

“Oh, uh, neat,” Dean says. Tessa rolls her eyes and gets up to leave. “Make sure new guy knows the house rules,” she says with a glare to the group before heading upstairs.

“She’s much nicer when-”

“When I’m not around,” Dean finishes for Charlie. “Do you guys think this can work out?”

“I don’t have employment at the moment but I do have savings if you need a deposit,” Castiel says.

Charlie shakes her head. “Pay what you can, when you can. It’s all cool.”

“We’ll work on the job thing when you get settled,” Dean adds. Cas raises an eyebrow at that. Even as a prospective romantic partner or friend, Dean is going far beyond what’s social required in this situation. It’s touching in a way Castiel isn’t prepared for. “Lemme go get your shit, hold on!”

Dean bounds out of the house, leaving Cas alone with the grinning redhead. “Wow, he really likes you.”

“I’m not sure why, but I’m very grateful if that’s the case.” Cas watches Dean through the large front window, admiring the bow of his legs and perhaps his thighs and ass as well. It’s a good picture.

“Well it’s obviously mutual. And I think you’ll fit right in here.” When Cas turns back Charlie is smiling even wider. “This is gonna be really interesting.”

“What do you-”

“Here we go,” Dean crows as he deposits Cas’s bags and the print in the front hall.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says quietly, hoping to convey some of the depth of his gratitude when he catches Dean’s eyes.

“Hey, we queers gotta watch out for each other these days,” Charlie says. She must see the shock on Cas’s face at the use of the word. “It’s reclaiming thing! Lots of us use that term. Not a slur.”

“Oh.” Castiel looks around nervously. “I think I might have a lot to learn.”

“Well, Charlie is pretty good at briefing people on the whole gay agenda. I, uh, gotta get to work – second job, not the bar – so I’ll just, uh, leave you to it.” Cas watches as Dean nervously rubs his palms on his jeans, looking everywhere but at the other people in the room.

“Dean, give the nice boy your phone number before you leave,” Charlie orders with a sigh. “I’m gonna go see if the room is clean. See you at work.”

And just like that they’re alone again and Cas’s heart is beating too hard.

“Can’t disobey Charlie, gimme your phone,” Dean says. Cas complies instantly and watches rapt as Dean enters his number in his phone and then sends a text to his own. “Now I’ve got you too.”

“Yes,” Cas says before thinking better of it and Dean send him a smile that makes his legs a bit unsteady.

“I gotta go do some other work, sorta a second job, but I will get in touch and maybe we can, uh…hang out some. Later. Or tomorrow.” Dean actually seems flustered, which Castiel can’t understand, considering how suave he’s been and his breadth of experience on this arena compared to him.

“I would like that very much.”

“Cool. Awesome.” Dean grins then glances around the empty living room. “Okay, uh…” Dean shrugs, making some sort of decision. It’s clear to Cas what that decision in when Dean pulls him close by the collar of his trench and kisses him. Castiel could get used to this, he’s quite sure. It feels right and good and intoxicating in a way nothing else ever has. He very much wants to keep kissing Dean for as long as possible…which turns out to only be a brief time. Dean pulls back, grinning and back away. He only trips once before raising a hand in farewell. “See ya, Cas.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

There’s a finality when Dean closes the door behind him, but not in a bad way. Castiel’s life is absolutely upside down compared to fourteen hours ago but he has no desire or need to right it. If this chaos means living free and seeing this extraordinary man again, it’s worth it.

“So!”

Castiel jumps at the sound of Charlie’s voice. “Oh, hello.”

“Let’s get you set up in your new digs. And then you can tell me your entire life story up to and including how you got Dean to look at you like that.”

"Oh. Alright."

With that Castiel grabs his things and follows Charlie up to his new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know there are typos, I'm posting this from Vegas Con. I'll fix them eventually.


End file.
